


Whims and Requests

by Cdelphiki



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, because my characters (I) have a potty mouth, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 02:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17972909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: Fics from Tumblr1: Bruce visits Dick (Ric) because he’s his son and he misses him.  Looking @ you canon.2: 5-year-old Tim sends adult Tim on a guilt trip over his treatment of Damian via an old letter.3: Damian cries in his sleep and Bruce is there to notice.4: Tim and Damian get along for once, but only after they argue about the validity of celery.5: Just because Batman couldn't investigate Jason's acquisition of the Iceberg Lounge didn't meanBrucecouldn't.6: Tim and Damian react to Bruce afterBatman#717: Damian has a panic attack/flashback and Tim and Jason deal with it.8-12: Batfam Drabbles13-14: AfterBatman#71, Clark confronts Bruce.  He's not happy.15: Jason learns that Damian named a cat after him.16: Jason confronts Bruce about being emotionally inept when it comes to Damian.





	1. Bruce Wayne & Dick (Ric) Grayson

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this came out of the thought that: You can't tell me the Wayne family actually just abandoned Dick.

“Dick,” Bruce said, slipping into the window in the living room. He hadn’t been here in a while. Hadn’t been by to see his oldest in weeks. Months. 

It was too painful, knowing Dick didn’t remember him. Didn’t want to remember him. Didn’t want anything to do with him.

But he couldn’t stay away, either. 

“What the fuck?” Dick shouted, spinning to face him, jumping from the couch where he’d been watching TV, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you breaking in is rude?”

Bruce resisted the smile tugging at his lips. Because there was his boy, standing right there, looking just like he had so often. The righteous indignation burning on his face. Hints of that temper Bruce knew so well. 

For as much as Dick was his happy child. His smiling, carefree boy, he also wasn’t. He was just as angry as Jason, or could be. Just as proud as Damian. Just as stubborn as Tim. He just usually never showed it anymore, out of responsibility to his younger brothers. Out of care and respect and love.

He was a good man. The best. And Bruce couldn’t be more proud of him.

But it was nice to see him letting himself out. 

“Dick,” he repeated, and even Bruce was surprised by the sheer relief in his voice. The relief knowing that his boy was still his boy, memories or no memories. 

“Stop calling me that,” he said, rolling his eyes and flinging himself back down at his couch, “I told you people to leave me alone.”

Bruce swallowed, hesitating at the threshold to the apartment. Dick had always been hounding him about not talking. Not sharing his feelings. 

It got him in trouble so often with his boys, the not talking thing. But speaking up was difficult. Putting his thoughts into words, and then getting those words out of his mouth was painful. And it scared him, sometimes, laying himself to bare like that. Because he knew he could handle the pain he already felt. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the rejection. 

With a deep, steadying breath, Bruce pushed back his cowl and went to sit next to Dick. 

“I missed you.”

Those three words, they felt so inadequate. They didn’t even scratch the surface of what Bruce felt. But Dick would have understood. He would have heard that and heard everything hidden beneath. Would have understood everything Bruce was trying to say, everything he was feeling. He’d smile and scoot over, lean his head down against his shoulder and say ‘I love you, too.” 

But Dick wasn’t here. 

Instead, Ric scoffed. “So you all keep reminding me.” 

Bruce nodded. He needed to talk to Dick like he were Jason. Like he were Damian. Stubborn and thick skulled and reluctant to actually _hear_ Bruce. 

“I’m not Dick,” he insisted, before Bruce could say anything, “I don’t remember you. I don’t remember any of you. It’s not _me_ you miss. It’s _him._ And I’ll never be _him.”_

 _“_ It’s you,” Bruce said, seeing now the path of the conversation. It _was_ like talking to Jason. “Memories or not, you’re my son.”

Dick scoffed again, rolling his eyes. His body tense, his arms crossed. He refused to look over at Bruce, but Bruce knew that man. Knew how to read him better than he could read himself. Dick was his boy, after all, regardless of what he called himself. _Richard_ was just as lost and confused as the rest of them. Just as lonely and isolated, too. 

A habit his family had he could blame on himself, Bruce supposed. The habit of secluding oneself and hiding. _No man is an island,_ the poem goes. But the members of the Wayne family do a decent job at flooding everything around them. At forcing themselves to be islands. At ignoring the entire group of people around them that love them. 

Bruce was the worst of them all. 

“I watched you get shot,” Bruce started, fixing his eyes on Dick. Refusing to look away. If Dick wanted it, Bruce would bare his soul. It’s all Dick had ever asked of him, actual emotional honesty. And if that’s what this took, Bruce would do it.

He would do anything for his kids, _Ric_ included.

“I actually got shot.”

Nodding, Bruce continued, “I thought you were going to die. Right there on that roof. In my arms. I thought you were already dead.”

“Dick did die. I’m not Dick.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. I’m _relived_ you didn’t.”

“You don’t listen, do you?” 

Bruce let the smile tug at his lips this time as Ric turned to look at him. Turned to shoot him a withering glare. _Just like Jason,_ he reminded himself. He should reintroduce those two. They’d get along well. 

He had always thought Jason and Dick would get along, and sometimes it seemed they did. But there was so much between them. So much animosity and hurt feelings that prevented them from being the best friends Bruce always knew they could be. 

Perhaps now, though… 

“Memories or no memories, you’re still my son. Those adoption papers say ‘Richard John Grayson’ and regardless of what nickname you go by, that’s you.”

When Dick didn’t respond other than to roll his eyes and look away, Bruce added, “I’m not asking you to be anything you’re not.”

“Aren’t you, though? You’re asking me to be your son. I don’t even _remember you.”_

“Being my son isn’t something you do. It’s something you are, and nothing will ever change that.”

“I don’t-” Dick began, then sighed and sat up. Sat forward, leaning all his weight onto his knees as he stared down at his hands. “All you people look at me the same way. Like you lost something. You don’t want _me,_ you want _him._ And no matter how hard I try, I’m not _him._ I’m tired of seeing the hurt. Tired of hurting each of you, especially that little one, just by being. I can’t do that, Bruce.”

With the final word, Dick looked up at him, and those familiar blue eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes he’d looked at for years. Those blue eyes that had caught his attention that night twenty years ago in the circus tent were still the eyes of his son. All the familiar emotions were swirling around in them just cementing in his head that _this_ was his son. 

Memories or no memories, Richard John Grayson was his. 

“I love _you,_ Richard. And I would like to get to know you again.”

Dick shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “I’ll just disappoint you.”

“Never,” Bruce said, faster than he thought he could respond. Without even thinking, he placed his hand up on the base of Dick’s neck, squeezing slightly as he said, “You could never.”

After a few minutes, during which time Bruce just massaged Dick’s neck while Dick, or rather, _Ric,_ left his face buried, something seemed to break. Dick sighed, and Bruce felt himself relax. Because maybe he was going to allow this. 

“You aren’t expecting me to start cracking jokes, are you?” Dick asked, turning his head to offer Bruce a very faint smile. One he could only see because he _knew that face._

 _“_ I can make the puns,” Bruce said, smiling wryly, “It’s not hard.” 

“It’s not hard,” Dick scoffed, standing to walk to the kitchen.

How he’d missed this. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time and just make a pun. Let Dick be the ‘sad and grunting one’ while he made the jokes. If only to see the simple glee in his eldest’s eyes. 

Dick opened the fridge and looked inside, adding, “being happy when you’re not takes effort, Bruce.”

“You don’t have to be anything you’re not, son.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, pulling a couple bottles from the fridge and turning back, “Want a beer?” 

Nodding, Bruce accepted the bottle once Dick popped the cap off. 

Dick was always the one to hold the family together. To swim through the flood waters and reach out to each of them, dragging them to shore and forcing them to realize that they weren’t alone. They weren’t islands. And it was about time someone reminded Dick of that. 

And if calling his son ‘Ric’ and drinking beer with him in his Buldhaven apartment was what it took, it was the least Bruce could do. Because Bruce loved his kids, and he’d do anything for them. 


	2. Tim Drake & Damian Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is leaving for college, and it comes to his attention that he's been a terrible older brother to Damian. And now he's leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: How about one where Tim finds one of his old letters to Santa that says, "Dear Santa, I know you are not real. But if you were, I would ask for a little brother. A sister will be okay too. As long as they played with me and stayed with me forever!"

College was not where Tim thought his life would take him next. He’d dropped out of high school. Dropped out to be CEO of a multi-million dollar corporation. What on earth did he need college for?

But he was excited. The thought of getting away from everything for a few years, taking a break and establishing a life beyond Gotham and the Waynes was refreshing.

If only he didn’t have so much crap in the attic to go through. He almost wished he’d spent more time sorting and culling back when he was 15 and his dad had died. It would save him the time, now.

Maybe had he done that, he wouldn’t be going through an entire box of letters he’d written as a child. A whole box. Why on earth were any of these saved? _Who_ had even saved them? Because Tim didn’t remember packing them all away at any point. Maybe the housekeeper did.

Most were letters to his parents that they never received, for various reasons. Several had been returned by the post office, while most were just never sent. Tim would have loved to just burn every last one of them, but apparently he was sentimental, because the thought of that made him sick.

And that was really stupid, because reading them was just bumming him out. Reminding him of the sad, lonely little boy he’d once been. That wasn’t good, either.

The final letter in the box, though, wasn’t addressed to his parents.

It was addressed to Santa Claus, and that gave Tim pause.

Because he can’t remember ever believing in Santa. Not for a single moment, because Santa never once brought him gifts. Not even coal, like he was supposed to bring naughty children, so he couldn’t even chalk it up to not being good.

So why on earth had he written a letter to Santa?

Curiously, Tim opened it, and was met with the handwriting of 5-year-old him.

_Dear Santa, I know you are not real. But if you were, I would ask for a little brother. A sister will be okay too. As long as they played with me and stayed with me forever!_

Frowning, Tim scanned the letter again, written in far too neat a handwriting, far too perfectionist for the age he was. Not that he was upset that he was smart, just annoyed that anyone had ever made him feel like this was what was expected of him. Annoyed he felt like he needed to be a mini adult to earn attention and affection. Because no child should ever feel that way. Should ever have to pretend they aren’t a child, in the hopes that someone will love them, if they do.

Kind of like how Damian acts.

At the thought, Tim closed his eyes.

Way to go, 5-year-old him. Sending himself on a guilt trip 13 years later.

13.... Years later.

Damian was 13-years-old.

That… was just a coincidence. Of course. Nevermind that Tim didn’t believe in coincidences. Damian was most certainly not the fulfillment of this wish.

Because that would be dumb. He and Damian were barely civil. Could hardly sit at the same table without devolving to violence. They weren’t brothers.

Except that they were.

On paper and in practice. Since they lived together and shared a last name. And a dad, technically.

It was too late, though. Tim was moving out. He was leaving, and this was the end of the line for them. They hadn’t figured it out in the past three years, why on earth would they figure it out in the day he had left at home?

They wouldn’t. So there. It didn’t matter.

Tim still agonized over it, regardless. Thought about 5-year-old him, who wanted nothing more than a little brother. Because he did remember _that_ desire. He had that desire up until he met Dick, and was basically adopted as Dick’s younger brother. But Dick was an older brother, not a younger one. Not one he could teach and guide, the way Dick had done for him the past 6 years.

Damian was that little brother.

And Tim had failed him.

\- - - 

When it was finally time to say goodbye, Tim stood around the car, exchanging hugs with Alfred and Bruce, thanking them for everything they’ve done for him and listening to them tell him how proud they were.

It was a beautiful moment. One he’d cherish forever.

The fact that Damian was there, too, standing a few steps behind and to the left of Bruce, was pretty telling, too. Because the boy was avoiding eye contact. Not speaking, not engaging, just standing there, staring off into the distance.

He looked extremely uncomfortable, and a little upset, almost?

Tim smiled and stepped over to his little brother, pulling him into a quick side hug.

“Unhand me, Drake,” Damian protested, pushing Tim away with a scowl on his face.

“Come visit me, yeah? I can show you around campus and we can get ice cream together,” Tim said, smiling warmly.

Damian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “Why would I visit you? I am glad to be rid of you.”

“We can visit the gallery, too, for the art department. See the students work. You can criticize it. It’ll be fun.”

“Whatever, Drake,” Damian said, adverting his gaze to the ground.

But Tim could see it. He could see the hidden desire to do exactly that, so he just smiled wider.

“Cool. Maybe in a couple weeks, once the semester starts up.”

“Just leave,” Damian said, turning on his heels to retreat back into the manor.

“I’ll text you,” Tim shouted after him. Maybe a little space would be good for them. It would make the moments they had together better, more cherished.

Just because they’d had a fairly rocky relationship so far didn’t mean it was too late. Tim still had time. He had _forever_ as Damian’s brother to make things right. And if the first step toward right was texting him everyday, well Tim could do exactly that.


	3. Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian cries in his sleep and Bruce is there to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Inspired by this Tumblr Post](http://kurawastaken.tumblr.com/post/183528067065/when-damian-cries-hes-absolutely-silent-so-no)  
> That was a prompt for someone else to draw art that was beautiful and wonderful and planted this story in my head so violently I had to write it so it'd quit bothering me.

The sound of crying startled Bruce from his sleep. 

It wasn’t a sound he was _unused_ to, per se, but he wasn’t at all expecting to hear it, either. 

Because Damian never cried. Ever. Bruce had never even seen the child’s face pinch up in that tale-tell sign all his other boys’ had had before the inevitable tears. 

Damian, who was younger than all the other boys had been when he took them in. Still young enough to be attending elementary school. Young enough to have baby teeth. 

Damian. His precious, stubborn little 10-year-old, never cried. Despite having more reasons than most. Despite having enough reasons to last a lifetime. Enough reasons to make Bruce want to cry for him. 

That precious little kid was lying in the hotel bed next to Bruce’s, quietly crying in his sleep. 

And Bruce didn’t know what to do. 

Convincing Damian to come with him on this trip had been quite the ordeal. 

Suspicious was Damian’s natural state. Just another indicator of the world the boy was coming from. All Bruce wanted to do was invite his son to accompany him on a business trip, so they could attend a baseball game in Metropolis and see the Art Museum together. But all Damian could see were possible ulterior motives. Traps and tests. 

“Damian,” he whispered, throwing the covers off himself to approach his still crying son. 

Bruce froze with his hand a mere inches from Damian’s shoulder, having visions of a knife being sunk into his stomach by a startled assassin. After Damian had put his distrust on full display, Bruce hadn’t had the heart to search for and confiscate all his weapons. 

The beauty of flying private. 

Instead, he knelt down next to the bed and patiently waited for Damian to come out of whatever dream had him so distressed as he murmured his reassurances. 

He only cried for another minute longer. His sobs were choked off, muffled, as if he knew, even in his sleep, that crying was not allowed. Not something he could be caught doing. Even caught in the depths of a nightmare, he still feared the terrors of reality, should someone hear him express his fear. His fear and grief and pain. 

It took a great amount of strength for Bruce not to reach out and run his hand through Damian’s hair. All he wanted to do in that moment was comfort Damian and draw him in close. Teach him to accept his comfort through hugging him until he relented. Convince his son that he was loved, and that being a child was both allowed and encouraged. Bruce would never allow anything bad to happen to him for showing such ‘weaknesses.’ 

That’s how Dick would handle this situation. 

Damian sniffed and stilled, apparently having come out of his nightmare. 

Bruce shifted on his feet a little, then whispered, “Damian,” again, getting an immediate reaction from the boy. 

His eyes shot open, wide and confused, as he stared at Bruce. 

“Are you all right?” Bruce asked, deciding to ignore the hint of fear he could see hidden in those too-alert eyes. 

“Of course, Father,” Damian said, his brow furrowing at the question as he sat up, “Why?”

“You were crying,” Bruce said as he sat on the edge of the bed, facing his son, knowing he needed to choose his words carefully. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said _that,_ though, because Damian immediately stiffened, grasping onto his blanket a little more tightly as he shifted back away from Bruce. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce said hurriedly, “I was just concerned.”

“I’m fine,” Damian said stiffly, his eyes looking away, off toward the wall behind Bruce. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bruce asked, turning around so his back was leaning up against the headboard, Damian sitting directly beside him now. 

Damian scooted again, a little further away from Bruce, but not out of his reach, either. Bruce could see the hesitation in him, feel the tension. Had he been Dick, Damian would have already been wrapped up in his arms, pouring his heart out, maybe. Or at least just accepting the comfort. Relishing in his older brother’s presence. 

But Bruce wasn’t Dick. Bruce was Bruce, and Damian didn’t trust Bruce. 

“There is nothing to discuss,” Damian said, his tone evening out, his accent strengthening. Just like it always did when he fully turned off his emotions. 

Frowning, Bruce pulled the blanket out from under him and flipped it up over his legs. It was cold in the hotel room. He had set it that way on purpose. So he would be more comfortable in the strange setting, being forced to burrow under the covers. It had helped Damian, too, who never seemed to get comfortable in the manor. Never used blankets when he slept. He was tonight. 

“I have nightmares,” Bruce said, turning his head to look at Damian, who was just regarding him with wary curiosity. 

“You do?” he finally asked, scooting down a little to mimic Bruce’s posture. Most his body under the covers and his shoulders resting back against the headboard. “What are they about?”

“Oh, a lot of things. Usually they deal with losing one of you. Not being fast enough, or strong enough, or attentive enough to save you.”

“That’s impossible,” Damian said, and the pure conviction in his voice, the hint of hero worship that Damian still held for him, made Bruce smile a little. All the other boys had seen through that illusion by now. It made his heart flutter a little, knowing Damian still looked up to him. Even if he didn’t trust him. 

But that distrust wasn’t because of _Bruce._

It was because of a lifetime of betrayal. 

“Other times they’re more memories than dreams.” 

Damian nodded and remained silent for several long moments before he whispered, “Mine are a mix of memories and unlikely situations.” 

Bruce frowned at the way Damian flinched violently when he reached a hand out. He held it there, still, for Damian to see it wasn’t threatening, and then continued reaching out for his son, sliding his arm behind Damian’s back and gently pulling him close. 

Reluctantly, stiffly, Damian let himself be pulled, and rested up against Bruce’s side as he asked, “Father?”

“I’m so sorry, Damian,” he said into his son’s hair as he wrapped both arms around his tiny shoulders, “I should have protected you. Pulled you away from the League as an infant. You’re my son and I failed you.” 

Somehow, Damian tensed further in Bruce’s arms and said, “I thought you didn’t know about me.” 

“I didn’t,” Bruce agreed, rubbing his hand up and down Damian’s arm, trying in vain to relax the little boy. 

“Then how did you fail me, if you did not know I even existed?”

“I’m the world’s greatest detective,” he said wryly, “I should have known.” 

“Tt,” Damian huffed, relaxing slightly in Bruce’s arms. Whether naturally or by force, Bruce didn’t know. “Do not blame yourself, Father. I don’t.” 

And this was all wrong. Bruce was supposed to be comforting Damian, not the other way around. Why did Bruce suck at these kinds of talks so much?

“These dreams,” Bruce said, shifting them a little so he was laying fully on the bed, Damian’s upper body and head resting on his chest, “I’m sorry you have them. I want you to know you can always come to me about them.” 

Damian shifted against Bruce, turning a bit so that he was lying a little less awkwardly, his cheek on Bruce’s chest and one of his hands in front of his own face, nearly all the way around Bruce in a hug, but not quite there. With every breath the two of them took, the tension was slowly draining from the boy. 

“It’s fine, Father,” he said softly, his fist clenching and unclenching against Bruce’s chest, “I’ve had them my whole life. I can handle it.” 

Bruce tightened his arms and leaned his head down to kiss the top of Damian’s head before he said, “You don’t have to, though. Not alone. Not anymore.” 

The fist tightened again, so Bruce took it in his hand and caressed the back of Damian’s palm until he relaxed enough that his fingers loosened. Then, he gently pulled the hand up to kiss it, while Damian craned his neck so he could watch. 

“I love you, Damian,” he whispered as he did, “more than you can fathom.” 

Then, Damian’s face pinched. In that same way. Just like Dick and Jason. Just like Tim on those rare occasions. Exactly like Bruce had, all those years ago, back when he was Damian’s age and seeking out Alfred for this comfort. 

Damian ducked his head again, so Bruce couldn’t see his face, and pulled his hand away so he could scrub furiously at his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling the blanket up over both of them, wrapping his arms around tightly, “you can let go. I’ll still love you.” 

The sob that escaped Damian’s lips was louder. Louder than the cry that had woken him to begin with. But still quieter than the angry fits of Dick. Quieter than the desperate cries of Jason. Than the pain-filled sobs of Tim. 

Bruce continued holding Damian for the rest of the night. Eventually, his little arms had found their way around his body, his face had been buried into his shirt, and his cries had quieted, making way to gentle snores. And the entire time, Bruce just lay there, carding one hand through Damian’s hair, rubbing the other up and down his arm, whispering quiet reassurances. 

He held no hope that Damian would start coming into his bedroom in the middle of the night with confessions of nightmares and demands for comfort. Childhood trauma wasn’t something that could be solved with a hug and an “I love you.” 

But Bruce hoped this was the first step towards trust. That first step toward Damian realizing that more than just Dick Grayson cared about him. To realizing that _Bruce_ really did care about him, and no matter what Damian did, what weaknesses he showed, what fears he confessed, nothing would ever change that. 


	4. Damian Wayne & Tim Drake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian was trying to do his homework and eat his celery in peace. Then Tim had to come in shouting about _sprinkles_ of all things. What even. (Complete and utter fluffy garbage.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon: please write some casual tim and damian when you get the chance! love your writing!

“Eww,” Tim said, interrupting Damian’s thoughts as he worked through his Algebra homework at the kitchen counter, “How can you eat that?”

Damian scowled, resisting the urge to snap his pencil in half in frustration. Not only was it a mechanical pencil, and would likely take a bit of effort and cause injury if he were to snap it, it was his last one. He had no idea where his pencils kept going, but he was down to just one and it needed to last at least until next Tuesday, when Alfred went to the store. 

After taking a breath, Damian continued on to the next step of his equation and took another bite of his celery and peanut butter. 

“You are ruining perfectly good peanut butter with that abomination of a vegetable,” Tim continued, rummaging through the cupboard, clinking together the bowls as he pulled one down, “why would you do such a thing?”

“If you don’t mind,” Damian said, through clenched teeth, “I am _trying_ to do my homework.”

Tim dropped the bowl down on the counter across from Damian, then went and pulled out a spoon. Damian was fairly certain Tim was making as much noise as possible as he did so, since he seemed to push around every single utensil in the drawer before pulling a spoon from the bottom of the pile. 

“Math, huh? I know some math about celery. Did you know, celery is 95% water and 100% not pizza?”

At that, Damian dropped his pencil in his textbook and glared over at Tim. He promised Father he wouldn’t fight with Tim. That had been part of the conditions when Tim moved back to the Manor. He’d been against the idiot moving in, of course, but no one cared what his opinion was. Apparently, Drake being 16 meant he was too young to be living alone, so Damian had to suck it up. For two years.

Which meant he had to suck it up now. And not fight with Tim. 

Damian screamed inside his head, then said with a flat voice, “Your math is sound but the point you are making is stupid.” 

Tim’s lips twitched, then he spun around and opened the freezer, “Anyway, is Alfred making you eat that crap? Ice cream is a way better after school snack.”

“No,” Damian said patiently. At least, he thought he sounded patient. He probably had what Dick called his ‘murder face’ on. “He is not. I chose it because peanut butter is an excellent source of protein, and ice cream is nothing but sugar.”

“But why the celery?” Tim asked, after tossing two different flavors of ice cream on the counter and turning toward the pantry. 

“How would _you_ suggest I eat the peanut butter?”

“With a spoon?” Tim said incredulously, “like a _normal_ person.”

Damian scrunched his nose at that and picked up the jar of peanut butter, “That is disgusting. You don’t eat it straight out of the jar, do you?”

“Well, yeah kind of. But I get a fresh spoon for each scoop, relax.” 

“Tt.” Damian set the jar back down and took another bite of his celery, which he’d already spread some peanut butter on with his knife. 

“Why don’t we have any fu…ricken sprinkles!” Tim shouted, knocking something over in the pantry. 

“Are you done yet? I would like to finish my homework this year.”

“Harr harr. No, I’m not done. Where are the sprinkes?” Tim demanded, still rustling around in the pantry. Had Alfred been in the kitchen, Tim would have already been kicked out, Damian was sure. He was making quite the mess. 

“Why would we have _sprinkles?”_

“Why would we have…” Tim repeated in horror, “ _because_ sprinkles are happiness in an edible form. You can’t eat an ice cream sundae without _sprinkes!”_

“Don’t you think you are being a tad dramatic,” Damian said dryly, rolling his eyes as he slathered his last piece of celery with peanut butter. 

“No,” Tim shouted, “look. I’m not saying this house’s lack of sprinkles is the reason none of you ever smile. But there _is_ a very clear correlation, don’t you agree?”

All Damian could do was roll his eyes. “Sprinkles are not _that_ good.”

“You have clearly never had so many rainbow sprinkles on a scoop of ice cream that you cannot see the ice cream. If you’d experienced the pure joy that is a rainbow-”

“Drake,” Damian cut in, “shut up.”

“No. We need sprinkes,” Tim grabbed the ice cream and shoved it back into the freezer, then spun to face Damian, “Go get your coat, brat, we’re going to the store.”

“I am not accompanying you to the store.”

“Yes you are. You need more happiness in your life, and lucky for you Walmart sells it for 2.49 a jar.”

“It is 15º Fahrenheit outside.”

“And?” Tim asked, looking at Damian expectantly. As if Damian were going to hop up and go get his stupid coat like Tim demanded. 

“I am not eating ice cream in the middle of winter.”

“The temperature outside has _nothing_ _to do_ with the deliciousness that is ice cream. Go get your coat.”

“No. I need to finish my homework. Go to the store by yourself.”

“I don’t want to,” Tim whined, and honestly, how was it Tim was the one closer to adulthood out of the two of them? “Apples go good with peanut butter. I’ll buy you some apples if you come with me.”

“We _have_ apples.”

“Then why did you pick celery!”

Damian angrily twisted the lid back on the peanut butter, then got up to put it back in the fridge. The sooner Tim left, the sooner he’d be able to finish his homework and leave. Go off and hang out with Jon. Or just hide in his room until patrol. Anything to avoid tolerating annoying brothers. 

“Have you ever had the chocolate sauce that freezes on ice cream?” Tim asked, his tone curious now, instead of annoying and whiny and grating and ugh. Damian really didn’t like having to deal with annoying brothers.

“No.” 

“It’s good. You pour it all over the ice cream and it hardens. Then you have to smack it with your spoon in order to eat it. It cracks into several pieces. And if you put sprinkles on it before it hardens, the sprinkles freeze in it.”

That actually sounded pretty cool, Damian hated to admit. He wasn’t a huge fan of sweets, but simple vanilla ice cream with a little chocolate syrup was one of his favorite treats. And a chocolate syrup that froze sounded… decent. 

“Does it end up tasting like chocolate chips?”

“Way better,” Tim said, grinning, “We can get some of that, too. They have all sorts of flavors. I’ll let you pick.”

Damian spent a long minute scrutinizing Tim. Staring at him with narrowed eyes. Because going with him to the store would be…. He wasn’t sure. It was something brothers did. And it would be like admitting they were brothers, wouldn’t it?

But they _were_ brothers. And the promise cool freezy chocolate sauce…

“I need more pencils,” Damian said, sliding back down off the stool he was sitting on, “and we need plain vanilla ice cream. We only have those candy-filled abominations you and Grayson prefer.”

This time, Tim’s smile was so wide his teeth showed as he said, “All right. And sprinkes. _All_ the sprinkles.”

\- - -

“It’s good, right?” Tim asked, later that afternoon as they both sat on the couch, eating their sundaes and watching some ridiculous action film Tim purchased. 

Damian took another bite of his ice cream, which was just a couple scoops of vanilla ice cream with a _lot_ of the chocolate sauce and half a spoon of sprinkles on it. Half a _spoon._ Not half a jar like Tim had put on his. 

“It is acceptable.” 

“Told you. _Way_ better than that not pizza you were eating earlier.”

Damian snorted, then took another bite to hide it as he suppressed the smile his lips were itching to show. Because it was a dumb joke and did not deserve laughter. 

“See. I _told_ you sprinkles were happiness.”

“Shut up, Drake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I have two Dick & Dami prompts to finish.  
> Also me: I have two outlines to hammer out so I can write/finish writing those stories  
> Also also me: _I am taking a two week break from writing to relax a little_  
>  my brain: Yeah okay, but Damian and Tim definitely argued about sprinkles and celery. Look, this is how it happened. 
> 
> .......
> 
> Happy Easter everyone!!


	5. Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was obvious Jason was up to something. Why else would he have 'purchased' the Iceberg Lounge? Batman couldn't do anything about it, but that didn't mean Bruce couldn't.

Jason was up to something. 

There was absolutely no other explanation for him _acquiring_ the Iceberg Lounge. He had to be up to something. But what? Bruce had no idea. _Batman_ had no idea. And as Jason so eloquently pointed out, Batman could do nothing about it. 

But Bruce could.

 _“Stop by anytime, Dad,”_ had been Jason’s words. Meant as a scathing remark, no doubt. One meant to cut Bruce right to the core. 

And… it had. 

The reminder that his _son_ had become… this. A criminal who takes over casinos and shoots people point blank for the world to see. That reminder had hurt him. 

This Jason was not his son. That’s what Bruce had to tell himself. Because _his_ Jason wouldn’t behave this way. _His_ Jason wouldn’t take over a criminal underworld. Or shoot people. Or murder. 

Even if this Jason wasn’t _his_ son, to the outside world, he was. And just because Batman couldn’t do anything about Jason Todd taking over the Iceberg Lounge didn’t mean _Bruce Wayne_ couldn’t do anything. 

_“Stop by anytime, Dad.”_

He’d been invited, after all. 

\- - - 

“Can I get you a drink sir?” the bartender asked once Bruce sat down. No one had even batted an eye at his presence. It wasn’t out of his character to just show up at a casino, after all, being a playboy. And now that the entire city knew that his ‘foster son’ owned the place, it was almost as if his presence was expected. 

“You know,” Bruce drawled, flashing a grin as he unfastened his blazer, “I’m feeling a rum and coke.”

Even without the mirror behind the bar to alert him, Bruce would have recognized Jason’s footsteps as he approached. Heavy and deliberate, without stomping, as if he wanted everyone to realize how massive he was. The gentle confidence he exuded only strengthened by his physical size. It gave him the air of kind yet strong. 

Jason could be just as silent as Bruce. So like everything Jason did, his noise was purposeful. He was exhibiting his power for Bruce to see. As if intimidation would work on him. 

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked, in delighted surprise, as he reached the bar, holding his hand out as if to set it on Bruce’s back, leaning in to whisper harshly through clenched teeth, “Get out.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, grinning again as the bartender handed him his drink, “This is my boy. He owns this place now.”

“Yes, sir,” the bartender said, forcing a smile on his face. 

“Why don’t you come to my office, _Dad,”_ Jason said, holding his arm out for Bruce to follow. 

It was quite the game they were playing. Now that he was up close, under Jason’s easy demeanor, Bruce could see the anger. The discomfort. The anxiety. 

Good.

Whatever Jason was up to, Bruce was going to find out. It was good that Jason realized that. 

“I would love to!” Bruce said, loudly and with as much cheer as he could put into his voice, “Lead the way, my boy.”

Bruce smiled at everyone they passed. About half the faces he recognized. From arrests he’d made. From gangs he’d busted. From parties he’d attended. It was an odd mix of people. Criminals and idiot rich people with gambling problems. But that’s what had always kept the Iceberg Lounge afloat. It’s legitimate business. 

“Why are you here,” Jason snapped, the second the door to his office was shut.

“An aquarium,” Bruce said, walking over to the glass wall to watch the saltwater fish swim by, “How eclectic. I wonder what it would cost to get one of these in _my_ office.”

“Cut the crap, Bruce,” Jason said, now leaning against his desk, his arms folded over his chest, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

Interesting, Bruce mused, that Jason was dropping the act with his security standing right outside the door. 

“Why, visiting you, of course,” Bruce said, still grinning as he tracked a clownfish scurry from one natural cave to another, “You did invite me, after all.” 

Jason’s jaw clenched at that. So much, Bruce could feel the pain in his own teeth, just by looking at it. But then he said, “I told you, I’m not up to anything.”

“Yes, well,” Bruce said, setting his untouched glass down on the nearest table, “We’ll see, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my attempt at turning [this Tumblr post](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com/post/183495293602/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-that-phrase-jason) into a 10-15k one shot, but I lost steam and got stuck here. Boo. Someone told me it was good as is, so I decided to throw it here. Maybe by doing so I'll get inspiration to finish it. Or it'll just sit forever. We'll see! Ha.


	6. Tim Drake & Damian Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened in the minutes after Bruce did that terrible thing he did in Batman #71? I hope something like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Batman #71 fallout.

Tim should have seen it coming.

He kicks himself, now, for turning a blind eye to it, because all the evidence was there.

Bruce had been progressively more violent with Dick. Dick tried to hide it, of course, to keep that from his ‘little brothers,’ but Tim wasn’t stupid.

Then there was that whole Jason thing.

He should have seen it coming.

Bruce’s mental state had been deteriorating, and he was doing nothing to help himself. And clearly, he would not accept anyone’s help. Not even from those he claimed to love.

The seconds ticked by, Tim lying on the ground, propped up on one elbow as his other hand felt at the quickly swelling spot on his jaw.

The others were silent. In shock, Tim assumed. He would be, too, if he didn’t know Bruce so well. If he couldn’t see Bruce for who he _was,_ and not what everyone wanted him to be. Like he said, he should have seen it coming.

“Father,” Damian finally said. Quietly. Almost like a whisper, spoken in horror, and Tim _really_ regretted not anticipating this. Because as much of a shit Damian was, he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve an abusive father on top of everything else in life.

Bruce, at least, looked _a little_ surprised with himself. But not enough for Tim to take it as an apology. No. Tim wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to accept an apology from Bruce for this.

And actually, Tim was quite done with all of this. Quite done with Bruce.

“That was uncalled for,” Duke said, shifting from one foot to the other, while the others seems to come out of their stupor.

Tim pushed himself up to a sitting position and Barbara and Damian walked over and knelt by his side, Babs inspecting his face while Damian just looked on, no emotions registering on his face at all.

“Leave,” Cass said, putting herself between Bruce and Tim, acting like she’d protect Tim from further attack. There would be no further attack, Tim knew, but it was a sweet sentiment, regardless.

“I called you all here,” Bruce started, just to have Damian cut him off, who stood to face his father.

“-and then you attacked Tim unprovoked. We’re done here.”

The way Bruce’s face twitched caused Tim to grab Damian’s arm and pull him back, away from Bruce. Not that Cass would have let Bruce step any closer.

“I swear to God, Bruce,” Tim said, brushing Barbara’s hands away from his face as he stood, “just leave.”

“Tim. Tim, I-”

“Leave,” the lot of them chorused, none of them particularly interested in listening to anything Bruce had to say. Especially not a half baked ‘apology’ he was only spewing to get them all to help him with Bane. Or whatever his mind had cooked up.

Bruce got the message and gripped onto his cape, throwing it dramatically as he spun on his heel and walked toward the edge of the roof. Tim paid him no more attention.

The girls pulled Duke a few feet away, and the four of them started whispering among themselves, leaving Tim and Damian alone, standing next to each other.

Damian turned to face Tim and asked, “Has Father ever….” But trailed off, frowning at Tim’s jaw.

“Do you have some place to stay?” Tim asked, rolling his shoulders, preparing to run and jump off the roof. To go back to his team and away from Gotham.

“The Titans,” Damian said, nodding.

“Good,” Tim pulled out his grapple and looked back down at Damian, “Clark would let you stay with him, too. If you asked. Or me, but you’d have to be nice to my team.”

All Damian did was frown harder, so Tim stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Damian finally rose his gaze to Tim’s eyes, and away from his jaw, and asked in probably the sweetest, saddest voice Tim had ever heard, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Tim rubbed at his jaw and winced at the tenderness. It was going to bruise so bad. At least it didn’t feel broken. Trying to explain _that_ to his team… “I’ve had worse.

“But it was Father,” Damian said lowly, quietly. Like the words themselves. The very idea was painful to acknowledge.

Tim wrapped his arm around and pulled Damian in for a hug. Their first hug, he realized.

“Is there something wrong with him?” Damian whispered, wrapping his own arms around Tim’s waist.

“He’s broken and hurting. I wish I could say he’s been drugged, or brainwashed, or something. But it’s not like this is the first time he’s….”

“He’s hit you before?” Damian cried, pulling away and looking up at Tim in horror.

“No. Not me. Dick and Jason.”

“He hasn’t….. Me.”

“Good,” Tim said, pulling him in for another second before he let go, “Stay away from him. He needs help, and I don’t want you getting hurt because he refuses to deal with it. Alfred will handle it.”

“Call me if you need me, okay?” Tim said, fiddling with his grapple as he prepared to leave, “This family’s a mess, but I’m around.”

Damian nodded solemnly, but smiled slightly when he said, “Perhaps the Titans and your team could work together sometime.”

“Yeah,” Tim said with a grin, “That’d be fun. Later, Robin.” Tim turned and ran toward the edge of the roof.

Just before he jumped, he heard Damian holler, “Goodbye, Robin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuses for Tim & Damian bonding, obviously.
> 
> This isn't my Bruce. I've gotta say that. I hate writing him like that. But this got stuck in my head after reading #71, so I had to write it. I wrote this while 'listening' to a call in meeting, so like, I didn't go back and reread. So I kind of forgot who all was there. But I was focused on the Tim & Damian so I don't really care. lol


	7. Tim Drake & Damian Wayne & Jason Todd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian has a panic attack while out hiking, and Jason and Tim are the only ones there to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by loserforbatfam and anon:
> 
> Loserforbatfam: 
> 
> "Here, let me see." With Jason and Damian please? 👀
> 
> anon:
> 
> How about 38 [[“Let’s take a deep breath…”]] with Tim and Damian. (I love your big brother Tim, he's just *chef kiss*)

Tim did not have the patience to deal with Damian Wayne.

How on earth Dick had practically raised Damian for months, he had no idea. Because just an afternoon with the demon and their idiot of an older brother—Jason, not Dick—was enough to make Tim go mad.

And he was. Going mad. 

Because after they’d been hiking through this damn forest ‘undercover’ in their civilian IDs, looking for the bunker of a drug smuggler both the Bats and Jason had been tracking for a while, Damian’s foot slipped as the ground beneath him eroded away, causing him to tumbled about 10 feet down hill. 

While that was unusual, Damian making a mistake like that, the part Tim was pretty sure was a product of his mind turning against him and creating false realities was when Damian started absolutely _freaking out_ over it. 

Well, in his very Damian way. 

He just froze there, at the bottom of the steep hill, his hands shaking slightly as he stared at his own feet. 

“Oi,” Jason said, nudging Damian’s head with his knuckles after he’d slid down the rocky hill, “You alive there, Demonbrat?”

When Damian didn’t respond, and only kept staring straight ahead, Jason knelt down in front of Damian and tapped at his cheek, “Hey, short-stack, you in there?”

Tim knew he was, in fact, in his right mind, when Damian’s response was to kick Jason in the stomach and snarl, “Get your plebeian hands off me you oaf.”

“Rude,” Jason said, standing back up and brushing himself off dramatically, “stop being such a little-” 

Both Jason and Tim frowned when Damian stood, only to nearly collapse back to the ground when he tried to put weight on his left foot. 

“Here, let me see,” Jason said, even as Tim slid down the hill himself to see what he could do to help. 

“Get off me,” Damian shouted, pulling his foot further away from Jason’s hands. 

And now that Tim was closer, he started to question his sanity again. Because while Damian’s comments weren’t completely out of character for him, the flushness of his face, the slight tremor in his hand, and the way his head moved jerkily all _were._

Because Damian didn’t freak out like this. _Ever._ He always had a cool head, no matter what was going on. He held off all his feelings until after the mission, because Tim wasn’t dumb enough to think Damian didn’t _have_ feelings. 

He’d heard him throwing up after a particularly gruesome case involving a child, after all. 

But for him to be losing it over a tiny little fall? Ridiculous. 

“I’m trying to _help,_ you stupid brat,” Jason snapped, moving forward to grab Damian’s foot again, “Just let me see what you did to yourself.” 

“It’s nothing,” Damian said, kicking his injured foot at Jason as he scurried backward, “Get off me. I am _fine.”_

“Listen,” Jason thundered, and Tim realized he should probably… step in, or something. Calm down his two hothead brothers. 

_Or turn around and pretend you don’t know them,_ his brain helpfully suggested. 

“Stay still,” Jason snarled, as he grabbed onto Damian’s good leg and yanked him closer, “Or I swear I’ll-”

“No,” Damian shouted, squirming against Jason’s grip, but not fighting as hard as Tim would have expected, “Get- Get off me. Let go.”

“ _Hey,”_ Tim said, jumping between Damian and Jason, as he put his hand on Jason’s, trying to suggest by pulling gently at his fingers to _let go,_ “Let’s take a deep breath…”

“Fuck off, Drake,” Jason snapped, Damian seconding the sentiment as he aimed his next kick at Tim, “I’m just trying to look at his ankle to make sure it’s not broken, he’s the one-”

“I said don’t touch me,” Damian cried, and the desperation in his voice froze Tim to his core. 

Jason seemed similarly affected, because he let go and took a step back. Took a few breaths, and then sat down on the ground, criss cross. 

“Dames,” Jason said, holding his hands to the side, “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

_‘I’m not scared,’_ Tim expected Damian to snap. To snarl and hurl something at them. Get up and prove he was fine, despite having an obviously injured ankle. 

But he didn’t. 

He seemed to shut down further as he pulled his knees up and shut his eyes tight. 

Tim and Jason exchanged a look, and Tim knelt down right next to Damian. Hovered a hand above Damian’s back, and said as gently as he could muster, “Damian, hey, what’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” he bit out, “just-just give me a minute. I can keep going. I just- I just need a minute.” Damian fisted his hands, and brought them up to rest on either side of his head, his eyes still shut tight, and Tim could only frown. 

“Just breathe,” Tim said, dropping his hand, not wanting it to accidentally touch Damian as he swayed slightly. _Rocked_ a little. “Talk to me, what’s happening?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, unclenching his fists so he could rub at his face, “I’m sor- Just. _Please._ Just a minute.”

“Everything’s fine,” Tim said, resisting the urge to reach out and rub Damian’s back. The last thing he wanted to do was make the panic attack worse after he’d been so adamant about Jason not touching him. 

“ _I’m_ sorry, Damian,” Jason said, leaning forward, trying to peer through Damian’s hands to his eyes, “I shouldn’t have- I...” 

“It’s fine,” Tim said, sitting down fully on his bottom, “We’re all fine. Let’s just, take a minute to breathe.”

After what felt like an eternity, Damian started to uncurl as his breathing evened out. “I’m sorry,” he said again, scrubbing at his eye, “I’m fine. We can keep going.” 

“No,” Tim said, sitting up on his knees so he could scoot closer, “Not until you let one of us look at your ankle.” 

“I’m fine,” Damian said, even as he stretched out his leg, basically giving Tim and Jason access to it, “I just twisted it.”

Since Jason was at a better angle to do so, he carefully unlaced Damian’s hiking boot and tugged it off. Once he peeled back the sock, both he and Tim cringed at the sight. Because Damian’s ankle was already swollen, nearly twice as large as it should be. And was covered in a pretty nasty bruise. 

“I think you broke it, squirt,” Jason said, craning his head back and forth to look at it from all angles as he gently probed at the bone with his fingers, “Yep. That or it’s a really bad sprain. Either way, we’re done.” 

_“No,”_ Damian said, that hint of desperation back, as he pulled his foot away, “No. Really. I’m fine. I can keep going.”

“Damian,” Tim said, trying to cut Damian’s rambling off. 

“Let’s just wrap it, and it’ll be okay,” he continued anyway, “Really. It barely even hurts.”

“Damian,” Tim said again, a little more forcefully, “You’re not fine. We need to get you home so we can X-ray it.” 

“We should call Bruce,” Jason suggested, pulling out his cell phone.

“No,” Damian shouted this time, reaching forward to snatch the phone from Jason, “No. Please. He doesn’t need to know. I can keep going, we don’t have to stop.”

“No,” Jason said, gritting his teeth, “You can’t, you-”

Tim cut him off with a raised finger, then turned Damian so he was looking at only Tim. “I know you can,” he said gently, leaning down so they were right at eye level, “I believe you. You can keep going. But you don’t _have_ to.” 

“I can do it,” Damian said weakly.

“I know. But you don’t have to. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” 

“Yes, it is. I promise you it is, Damian.” 

Damian sucked in a sharp breath and crossed his arms over his stomach. “It’s not,” he said, between stuttered breaths, “It- it wasn’t.”

“But it is _now,”_ Tim asserted, daring to reach out and place a hand on Damian’s knee, “We can go home right now. No one will be mad about it, or criticize us, or anything. It was an accident and accidents happen.”

“The case,” Damian protested weakly, but Tim could see it in his eyes. See the burning desire to give up and go home, just like he suggested. The absolutely exhaustion settling in, like Tim knew always happened after panic attacks like that. 

“-Will still be here tomorrow. Or next week,” Jason added, drawing Damian’s eyes to him, “Really, you’re more important than it, anyway.”

Damian opened his mouth, but then shut it tightly as his lip started to quaver. Jason jumped into action faster than Tim could, and spun around so his back was facing Damian.

“All right, squirt. Up you go, grab on.” Jason held his hands out, as if to hold onto Damian’s arms as he climbed on piggy-back, but Damian just stayed sitting there, staring. 

“I can walk,” he said, scowling now. 

“ _Yeah,_ and I can carry you just as easy. Hop on.”

Damian made as if to stand up, so Tim said, “Bruce would be so mad at us if we let you walk. Just let Jason carry you.” 

“Fine,” Damian huffed, after considering them for a second. He wrapped his arms around Jason’s neck and, once lifted into the air, let Jason put his arms around his legs and hold there. 

Tim grabbed Damian’s discarded boot and shoved it into Jason’s backpack, then slung that over his own shoulder. “Hiking is really boring, anyway,” he said, as he caught up with Jason, “I’d much rather spend the evening at home than in the woods getting murdered by mosquitos.” 

“Tt. They aren’t that bad today,” Damian said, blinking slowly. 

“Yeah, that’s true. But they’ll get worse as the sun sets.” 

Damian just nodded as he yawned, loudly. Jason jostled him a bit, so that he was sitting a little lower down on his back, and his head was resting against Jason’s shoulder. Instead of sit back up, Damian just rested there, and eventually closed his eyes completely. 

Neither Tim nor Jason dared speak the rest of the walk to the car, both of them content to let their little brother relax in his sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing drabbles on my Tumblr. So far I've got four to post here, but each one is around 500-900 words, so I'm going to do a dump once I've decided I'm done sifting through the prompts, that way no one gets 500 emails from me about posting a new chapter of this. :) This one was long enough to just post alone, I felt.


	8. Damian Wayne & Tim Drake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Did you see the Selina and Damian story in the DC new talent showcase 2018? There was a brief mention in the story that Alfred the cat got out and captured by the Penguin because Tim left the gate open. I was wondering if you were up to writing the Tim and Damian interaction during the cat-napping incident!

“Alfred,” Damian called for what felt like the 50th time that morning. His cat always came when called. Always. And yet, today, he’d been stubbornly hiding. Damian had even resorted to shaking the jar of treats to attract the kitty’s attention, and still the feline was no where to be found. 

Damian checked in every room he’d ever seen the kitty. If he came across an open door, he inspected the room for Alfred. So far he’d checked all the bedrooms, the main living room, the library, the kitchen, and half a dozen random little sitting rooms throughout the first floor. 

No sign of Alfred. 

“Alfred,” Damian shouted, growing more agitated by the second, and that’s when he saw it. 

An open door.

That led outside. 

Someone had left the door to the patio wide open, and knowing Alfred, he’d probably taken the opportunity to escape into the gardens without a second thought. 

Fury building, Damian stomped to the back door and peeked his head outside. And of course, there was Drake. Stupid Drake. Sitting in one of the chairs with his feet up on the table, a book on his chest as he napped. 

Damian let out a frustrated growl. “Drake,” he snarled, then smirked at the way Tim jumped several inches, causing his book to fall to the ground.

“Shit, Damian, what the hell?”

“Tt. You left the door open and now Alfred’s missing.”

Drake blinked and rubbed at his eye as he pulled his feet off the table to sit up properly. “Alfred’s allowed to leave the Manor, Damian. He’s probably running errands, anyway. It’s Tuesday. He always goes grocery shopping on Tuesdays.”

Rolling his eyes, Damian said, “Not Pennyworth. Alfred. The cat.” 

“Oh.” Drake retrieved his book from the ground and looked over at the open patio door. “Sorry, the latch on that thing is finicky. I didn’t notice it didn’t shut properly.”

“’Sorry’ is not going to win you any points if he gets killed by the foxes,” Damian snapped, stomping a foot for good measure. He had to do something to cover how his voice cracked a bit at the end of the sentence.

Drake sighed and pulled his handheld computer from his pocket. The one shaped like a bat Damain always said was ridiculous. Why did his computer need to look like a bat? 

Because it was awesome, that’s why.

“We put a tracker in him,” Drake mumbled as he tapped away at the screen, pulling up a map of Gotham to locate the missing kitty, “There. He’s…. huh.”

“What?” Damian asked, instantly finding himself next to Tim, looking down at the tablet screen, “He’s in Gotham proper? How did he get there?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said, sighing again, “Maybe someone turned him into the humane society or something. Give me five minutes to get ready and I’ll drive you, okay?”

“No,” Damian said, snatching the mini-batcomputer from Drake’s hands, “you’ve done enough damage. I will retrieve him on my own.”

“Damian,” Drake said tiredly, “you’re not old enough to drive.” 

“You’re not old enough to drive,” Damian mimicked before he spun on his heels and headed back for the house, “I will go as Robin.” 

“That’s my computer,” Tim protested, “take your own.”

“No. It’s mine now,” Damian said, pausing in the door to add, “And don’t think for a second this makes us even, Drake.” 

With a slam of the door, Damian started to stalk toward the cave, just to stop when he heard the door slowly creek back open. 

“Stupid door,” Damian mumbled as he, much more gently, pulled it shut until the latch clasped. “Shut up, Drake,” he shouted, when the infuriating imbecile started laughing outside. 


	9. Tim Drake & Damian Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Damian go hiking just to avoid the rest of the family while on vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: 23 and 30  
> [[“I immediately regret this decision.”  
> “Is that blood?”]]

“I immediately regret this decision,” Tim groaned, as his hand slipped from its hold on the rock face. 

Why he and Damian were out rock climbing, he had no idea.

Actually, he did. Neither of them wanted to participate in the horrors that constituted a day with Dick and Wally andJason _and_ Roy in the same room. On top of the rest of the family. Yes, Bruce and Steph included. 

Tim had heard the word “monopoly” and immediately made excuses to escape the hell that had been mandatory family vacation.

Had he gotten the memo that _friends_ were invited, he probably would have invited Kon. Or Bart. 

Or _both._ Just to annoy everyone else. 

Damian had looked at him with those pleading eyes. The ones Tim realized Dick must see a lot, considering how often he bent to the little demon’s will. 

So, Tim had quickly made the excuse that he and Damian had wanted to go hiking. 

“ _By yourselves?_ ” had been Dick’s cautious question, accompanied by snorts of laughter or wide eyes from the eight other people in the room.

_Eight._

Far too many for Tim’s tastes. 

“ _Of course, it is unwise to hike alone_ ,” Damian had replied. 

And since no one wanted to discourage them ‘getting along,’ they had been allowed to escape the cottage by 10, with sandwiches packed and a promise to keep their trackers on. 

“Is that blood?” Damian asked, from where he was standing on the ground, just a few feet below.

“No. My hand is oozing ketchup.

Damian rolled his eyes. “There is no need to be difficult. Get down. We can find a way around.”

“No,” Tim whined, looking up for a different, less sharp, handhold, “I can do this.”

“If you return shredded, Father will blame me instead of your incompetence. Get down.”

Tim gained another foot up the 9 foot cliff that was blocking their path forward, toward the overlook they were wanted to eat lunch on. “Ow, shit,” he mumbled, when his foot slipped and he had to catch himself… again.” 

“Drake,” Damian hissed, “Get down.”

Fueled entirely by spite, now, Tim went sideways, then found a better path of hand and footholds. All the while, Damian continued making huffing noises up at him. Wiping the blood from his hand onto his pant leg, Tim reached up and grasped onto the ledge, ready to hoist himself to the top. 

It… didn’t work.

Of course.

The second he put any sort of weight on his hold, the entire ledge came loose, and Tim lost both his grip and his balance.

“Tim,” Damian shouted, jumping backward as Tim thudded to the ground, thankfully on his butt first, then his forearms as he attempted to catch himself from smacking his head against the hard ground. 

All the air was knocked out of him, however, and it took him a good half minute just to force his lungs to obey and breath in. 

“Are you okay?” Damian asked, his eyes wide as he knelt down next to him, his hands probing the back of Tim’s head and over his arms and legs, clearly looking for anything broken. 

“Fine,” Tim wheezed out. After a few good breaths, he added, “I feel like four feet. That’s nothing.”

“I told you to get down,” Damian said, standing to his feet and stomping a foot. 

“And I told you I could do it,” Tim shot back as he sat up, then looked at his previously injured hand. There was _so much_ dirt in the cut. He should probably… clean it.

“I didn’t realize you were _actually_ an idiot.”

“You just said you think I’m smart. Pretty sure.”

The sound Damian made could only be classified as scandalized, “ _You fell._ What part of you thinks that means you _could do it.”_

“Not my fault the ground decided to give way. I totally had it, otherwise.”

After slipping his backpack off and tossing it at the ground, Damian knelt down and started rifling through it, then yanked the first aid kit out and moved to sit beside Tim. 

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” he grumbled, as he snatched Tim’s hand and started cleaning the wound with some of the supplies.

Tim grinned and nearly sang, “Aww, I knew you cared.” 

In response, Damian jabbed at the cut with more force than necessary, causing the alcohol soaked cloth to _sting._ But it was totally worth it, to see Damian’s face turn bright red in the way it did. 

This was going to be a fun story to tell Dick.


	10. Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is having trouble with his 7th grade homework, so Bruce helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: #92. [[“Don’t sell yourself short.”]]

“This is so dumb,” Jason shouted, from the dining room table where he was doing his homework, “who invented math? They should be executed.”

“Jay,” Bruce laughed, poking his head into the room, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m stupid, that’s what’s wrong.”

“Hmm,” Bruce said, shutting the fridge he’d been looking through to go sit next to Jason, “You are not.”

“Yes I am,” he whined, shoving his 7th grade homework halfway across the table.

Bruce watched as his loose leaf papers fluttered about before settling randomly around and frowned. “Why do you think you’re stupid?”

“It’s supposed to be _easy._ The teacher said it was _easy._ But I don’t get it! I keep getting the wrong answer. I’m stupid and will never pass the 7th grade.”

“Hey now, don’t say things like that,” Bruce said, gathering up Jason’s papers, “You’re a smart kid. You’re a _detective._ It takes intelligence to be Robin.”

Jason crossed his arms and sank further down into the chair, mumbling, “You’re the detective, I just tell lame jokes and punch people.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You solved that murder last week, remember? I had no clue it was Penguin’s men, but you figured it out in seconds.” Bruce ruffled Jason’s hair, roughly, so he was jostled from his pout. “If you can figure that out, I’m sure you can figure this math out. You just need to acquire the skills first.”

“Hmph,” Jason scowled at Bruce, then sat up straighter, “Well the teacher said I should already know it because it’s ‘4th grade’ math.”

Bruce frowned at that. He’d need to have a talk with the headmaster, wouldn’t he? It was the teacher’s job to make sure Jason had all the appropriate building blocks he needed, not to make him feel like an idiot for missing pieces. The school _knew_ Jason hadn’t attended school regularly in years. They were supposed to be helping him. 

Looking through the papers in his hands, Bruce recognized exactly what Jason was missing in his pre-algebra work. “You need to follow the order of operations.”

“The what now?” Jason scrunched an eyebrow and pulled the textbook back toward him, “I don’t see that in here.”

“Once you know it, it’ll be easy. Here, I’ll show you.” 

And sure enough, it only took Bruce walking Jason through PEMDAS once for him to be able to complete the sheet of equations. 

“Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally,” Jason mumbled, as he finished off the last of the equations, “There. Are they right?”

“Sure are, lad. See, do you believe you aren’t stupid, now? You learned a difficult concept some never fully grasp in about 10 seconds flat.”

At that, Jason smiled widely and said, “I did, didn’t I?”

“Next time you are having trouble, just come ask me, okay? Instead of demanding someone be executed?”

“Well,” Jason sang, as he gathered up his homework and shoved it back into his bag, “I still think that person needs to answer for the suffering of millions of children around the world.”

All Bruce could do was laugh. 


	11. Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason catches Damian crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon asked: [[“Your eyes are red… Were you crying?”]] with jason and damian pls :0

There was never a dull day at Wayne Manor.

At least, never while Jason was there. Whether that was because he cooked up drama for the fun of it, or Wayne Manor was just inherently dramatic, Jason wasn’t even sure himself. But tonight was no different, because as Jason sauntered down the hall toward the guest room he usually crashed in, he had to pause and backtrack. 

“Demon,” he said, poking his head into Damian’s room, trying to speak loud enough to be heard over the music playing.

The little brat had his back to the door, and was rubbing at his face rather aggressively. Based on how he jumped, just slightly, at Jason’s words, he must have thought he was alone in the manor. 

He would have been, had Jason not picked the lock and let himself in. Bruce and Alfred were away on a business trip. Jason had thought Damian would go with them, but whatever. He was 12. Probably old enough to spend a day or two alone. 

Besides, there was Tim. Tim slept here, didn’t he? So the brat wouldn’t be completely alone. 

“What are you doing here, Todd?” Damian demanded, finally turning around to glare, “Perhaps your lack of a key was not clear enough, but you are not welcome here.”

“Yeah, cool, nice to see you, too,” Jason said, entering the room to turn the music off, “So how’s it hanging?”

Damian’s eye twitched as Jason took a seat at his desk. “Tt. Get _out_.”

“Nah.” Watching Damian’s eye twitch again caused him to _really_ look at Damian. And all he could do was frown. Because the kid looked like shit. “Your eyes are red… were you crying?”

At that, Damian stiffened, briefly, before he charged at Jason, shouting, “I said _get out._ You are not welcome here. Breaking in is illegal. Father does not permit me to use force against you all, but I _will_ call the police. And without Father or Pennyworth here to vouch for you, they will remove you from the premises.”

“Uh huh,” Jason said, easily catching the hands that were trying to push him out of his chair and out the door, “So is that a yes on the crying?”

Pulling his hands away, Damian spat, “Fuck you, Todd,” as he flung himself at his bed. After a second, he threw one of his pillows at Jason, then another, and another, until all seven million pillows were adequately scattered about his room. Jason only caught one, which came dangerously close to knocking over a lamp. 

“So,” Jason said slowly, once Damian seemed to be finished with his little preteen fit, “Want to tell me what this is about?”

“Like you care.”

“I get I’m not Grayson, but we’re, like, brothers, right?”

Damian laid back on the bed and crossed his arms. “Are we?”

“Sure. Legally, at least.” When Damian did nothing but frown harder at the ceiling, Jason tilted his head and asked, “Anyway, what are you even doing here? I thought you were going on this little business trip with Bruce and Alfred.”

“Oh, is _that_ why you’re here? Thought no one would be here to witness you stealing the silverware?”

“Please,” Jason drawled, “Like I’d take Alfred’s silverware. Bruce’s watches is where the money’s at.”

“Tt.” 

“Is that why you’re upset? They left you behind?”

“I said go away.” The way Damian said it, the slight shake to his voice, the lack of venom in his tone, told Jason he was right on the money.

“Why’d they do that?”

After a long hesitation, Damian rubbed at his eyes, still staring up at the ceiling, and said, “I didn’t complete my assignments.”

“So he grounded you?” Damian just nodded, so Jason got up and sat on the edge of his bed adding, “That’s rough, kid.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a dumb two-day trip to Metropolis.”

“No, I get it. It was a day for just you and Bruce and Alfred. No one else, no annoying brothers, and no capes. It… that kind of stuff is important. Being upset is justified.”

Damian opened his mouth like he was going to respond, but then his face pinched painfully, and he turned onto his side so his back was facing Jason. “ _Please_ go away,” he whispered, pressing a hand into his eyes. 

Jason, of course, did the exact opposite. He kicked his shoes off and laid back on the bed, right next to Damian, placing his hands behind his head. 

And he just laid there. For a long while, while Damian tried his best to hide how upset he was. When it sounded like he was pretty done crying, Jason cleared his throat and said, “You know, you should tell him you were looking forward to time alone with him.”

“No,” Damian said, harshly and quickly, as he sat up, “No. I can’t.”

“He’s got a thick skull, Dames. He doesn’t _know_ these kinds of things. He has no idea you want to spend time with him unless you say it, with words, to him. Otherwise he just assumes you hate him or some nonsense.”

“I don’t hate him,” Damian whispered. 

“Obviously.” Jason paused long enough to sit up and drape an arm across Damian’s back. “I can tell him, if you want. Won’t even mention this whole episode. Just’ll _kindly_ suggest he not be such an asshole parent to you.”

Damian hesitated, but finally asked, “You… you would do that?”

“Sure. It’ll be my pleasure.” 

And it would. As soon as Bruce got home and found Jason still in his house, because like hell was he leaving Damian here alone like this. Or with Tim, or whatever. He was going to lay into the asshole about how stupid of a move this had been. 

Honestly. Damian deserved his dad’s attention. Even if he never asked for it. 


	12. Damian Wayne & Jason Todd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason gives Damian a cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovelesslayla asked: [[“What’s that behind your back?”]] Jason and Damian
> 
> I changed the dialogue prompt some to be more in character.

The last thing Damian was expecting to see on patrol was the Red Hood.

Sure, he showed up every now and again to the Batcave, usually at the call of Grayson to help with that crisis or the next, but as for randomly showing up while the bats were on patrol? Never happened.

Damian was pretty sure he’d hacked into their comms and kept track of them, specifically so he could avoid their routes. 

For whatever reason, no one else seemed alarmed by this theory, when Damian brought it up. So he’d resigned himself to just ignoring the fact that _Jason Todd_ existed. Like everyone else in the family did.

So when Damian was alone in an alley, after having walked a scared would-be-victim home, the last thing he expected to see when he turned around was the Red Hood. 

Just standing there. 

With his hands behind his back. 

Taking a step back, Damian put his hands out, as if to defend himself. If Jason had a gun behind his back, Damian wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to get away in time. To dodge. Jason was, he hated to admit, a decent shot. 

But all Todd did was shift from one foot to the other, and shake his leg a little. As if he were nervous. 

Ha.

Good. 

He should be nervous facing down Damian Wayne. 

When the silence stretched, though, and Hood made no movements as if to attack, Damian stood a little straighter and asked, “What do you have behind your back?”

“Uh,” Jason stammered, “Look. I know that we don’t- and this is weird- but. Um.”

Damian dropped his hands completely and stood up, cocking his head to the side. He really wished the imbecile didn’t wear a stupid helmet, so he could at least get a good reading on his facial expression. 

Jason was a very expressive person.

Which… That was probably why he wore a helmet. 

“Spit it out, Todd,” Damian snapped, “or I’ll call Father here and have him run you off.”

“Don’t,” Jason said quickly, carefully swinging one of his arms around to his front, then the other to help hold the precious load he was carrying, “I found him. I know you like animals, and I can’t really take care of him. So I thought, maybe you’d be able to…”

Resisting the urge to smile, Damian crept closer and peered down at the tiny kitten nestled in Jason’s hands. “Where’d you find him,” he asked tentatively, reaching out to scratch at the kitten’s head, just as it let out a very adorable yawn. 

“In the sewer,” Jason said, opening his hands a little, prompting Damian to take the kitten, “I heard it crying and went after it. I wasn’t sure what else to do with him, the shelters are usually already overrun, and I knew you’d be able to help him. I could always take him to Selina, I guess, if you don’t-”

“No,” Damian said quickly, gently lifting the kitten out of Todd’s hands, “I mean, it’s fine. I’m Robin, I help the innocent.”

“Cool. Okay. Uh, do you need me to walk you to the Batmobile or something?” 

Damian shook his head, still looking at his precious new friend. The cat was so tiny he could fit into one of his hands, so Damian was holding him up, right at eye level. “I can manage. It’s only two blocks to the west.” 

“Okay,” Jason said, pulling out his grapple and shooting up to the roof above them, “Later squirt.” 

Smiling, Damian made his way to the Batmobile, where Batman was waiting for him, arms crossed, as he leaned against the passenger door.

“Where have you-” Father started, just to stop and glare, “What is that?”

“This,” Damian said, holding the cat up for Father to inspect, “Is Todd. He’s coming home with us.”

“He- uh,” Father said, then paused as a very faint smile graced his lips, “Okay. Then let’s head that way so you can give _Todd_ the attention he needs.” 

“Yes, let’s.” 


	13. Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After _Batman_ #71, Clark hears from Kon who hears from Tim what happened, and he has some words for Bruce about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Batman #71
> 
> Requested by Romiress:  
> "So after reading your comments on the great big 'batman is abusive' meta: Have you ever written / thought of writing something along the lines of 'Clark finds out and goes to take Bruce to task'?"

Clark was livid. 

That was really the only way to explain how he felt, upon hearing Kon relay what Tim had told him about Bruce’s recent _behavior._

Bruce was supposed to be better than this. He was a superhero, for god’s sake. And superheroes did _not_ hit their children. 

But this had apparently been going on for _years,_ according to Kon and Tim. 

How had Clark been so blind? 

Which is how Clark found himself landing in the grass in front of Wayne Manor, not even an hour after Kon had left. He’d cleared his plan with Lois, of course, but he hadn’t really expected her to object. 

She loved Damian, too, after all. And it was only Damian still living at home. 

It only took a second for someone to open the door for him, his landing, of course, set off the proximity alarm inside. But they all knew what his landings looked like on their security system by now.

Damian, surprisingly, was the one who opened the door. He looked tired. Like the past few days had been more exhausting to him than anything else. 

As far as Clark was aware, Damian had witnessed the event that set all this off, after all. He probably was exhausted. Bruce was a hero in Damian’s eyes, even if he was constantly rebelling against him. For all the shortcomings he thought his father had, abusive was likely not one of them. 

Not until this week, that is.

And his eyes lacked that spark of mischief Clark usually saw. 

The poor kid was truly lost with all this, wasn’t he?

After exchanging pleasantries and being welcomed into the house, Clark said as gently as he could, “Damian, son, why don’t you go pack a bag.”

“Mr. Kent?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow at him, “Why?”

“You’ll be staying with us for a little while, okay?” Clark said, just as Bruce exited his office and strode down the hall, already showing signs that Clark had just ruffled some feathers.

“Excuse me?,” he said, toying with the button on his sleeve, a nervous tick, Clark knew. One Bruce thought he didn’t have. “I’m fine with sleep overs, Clark, but you can’t just show up here and take my kid without calling ahead first.”

“Damian,” Clark pushed, motioning to the stairs with his head, not wanting to have this conversation in front of the child. He did not need to hear what Clark had to say.

With a frown, Damian nodded. Whatever expression Clark had on his face must have been enough to tell Damian _he_ didn’t want to be present for this conversation, either. 

Bruce twitched at how easily Damian obeyed Clark, and snapped, “Damian Wayne, you-”

But Clark cut him off, grabbing onto his arm to prevent him from following Damian or escaping this conversation. 

Damian, bless his heart, continued on down the hall, as if nothing had just happened.

“Let go, Kent.” 

Clark didn’t, of course. Not until Damian had made it around the corner and up the stairs, where Clark was confident he could not hear them. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bruce demanded, looking pointedly at Clark’s hand.

“What do you think _you’re_ doing,” Clark snapped back, loosening his grip so Bruce could escape.

Bruce yanked his arm away dramatically and glowered. “You can’t just take my kid.”

“I see two options here,” Clark said cooly, “One, you allow this to happen. Or two, I publish a story detailing exactly how you’ve been treating the older boys, and then social services does the work for me. Pick one.”

That, Clark had known ahead of time, was going to strike a chord. And it did. He could practically hear a blood vessel burst as Bruce took a step forward and growled, “You _dare-”_

“We’re friends, Bruce,” Clark said calmly, refusing to allow Bruce to make any sort of threat, “but you can’t honestly expect me to stand by while you beat on your children.”

“I do not-”

“You hit Tim so hard he fell to the ground. You beat Jason to the point where he _couldn’t walk._ And I don’t even know how many times you’ve punched and beat on Dick.” 

“They’re all adults,” Bruce bit back, “and they often start-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. First, Tim is 16. In case you forgot, because he went and got himself emancipated. He’s a child, in both my eyes and the law’s. What kind of excuse is that, anyway? They’re your _sons._ You’re supposed to love them, not hit them.”

Bruce had no retort to that, and wasn’t that telling? All he did was clench his jaw and fist his hands. Likely itching to hit Clark, but knowing doing so wouldn’t gain him anything. 

Clark wasn’t even sure if he’d roll with the punch to prevent a broken hand, himself. 

“This is none of your concern,” Bruce eventually said, still glaring daggers at Clark. 

Clark could hear Damian zipping up his bag upstairs, so he knew they only had another minute or two before the boy reappeared. 

“Damian will be staying with me,” Clark said, smoothing out the expression on his face, “Until you do something about whatever’s going on with you. You need help, Bruce. I’m here for you, I am. But I can’t let these boys get hurt any more.”

Somehow, Bruce managed to clench his jaw tighter, just as Damian started down the stairs. 

“I’ll make sure he keeps up with school. And if you want, I’ll let him call and text you. But I want to see you making an actual effort here. You have some great kids, Bruce. You need to start treating them better.”

Damian turned the corner of the hall at that moment, and quietly made his way down it. He paused at his father’s side and looked up, but Bruce refused to look at him. Instead, he turned around and disappeared back into his office. 

“Come on, kiddo,” Clark said, holding his arm out so Damian would join him at his side, allowing Clark to wrap an arm around his shoulders, “It’ll be alright, you know?”

“Yeah,” Damian whispered, eyes downcast as he walked along side Clark as the exited the manor.

“He does love you,” Clark said, just before he picked Damian up for them to fly to Metropolis, “he’ll come around.”

Damian hoisted his bag into his lap, allowing Clark to carry him bridal style as they flew, then said, “He loves Tim, too. And Richard and Jason. And yet he still…”

“That’s what I’m saying he’ll come around about. We’ll make sure he gets the help he needs, okay?”

After a minute, Damian just nodded, then asked, “Is Jon home?”

“He sure is. He’ll be thrilled to know you’re staying with us. You two will have to share his room, but I didn’t think he’d mind.” 

“No,” Damian said, allowing a faint smile to grace his lips, “I don’t think he will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad Dad Bruce is not my Bruce. :(
> 
> This broke off into its own series of one-shots. [That can be found here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19310035)


	14. Damian Wayne & The Kents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Chapter 13: Clark takes Damian away from Bruce. About how Damian settles in with the Kents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This broke off into its own series of one-shots. [That can be found here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19310035)

For the first few weeks, Damian felt very temporary. He went back and forth between sleeping on the couch in the living room and sleeping on the floor of Jon’s room. But after Jon nearly tripped over him for at least the 32nd time one night, Lois decided it was time they rearranged Jon’s room. 

By the time the boys got home from school that next day, there was a second bed and chest of drawers in the bedroom, and a shopping trip scheduled so Damian could pick out his own bedding. 

Alfred sent over more of Damian’s things. His art supplies. His clothes. And Alfred the cat. Titus was too large for the Kents’ apartment, which was hard on Damian, but at least he had Alfred. And once he had his own bed, Alfred slept with him each night, curled up right next to his face. It was almost like being at home. 

It was a month into Damian’s stay when Clark finally said, “Enough with the ‘Mr. Kent’ stuff, son. You live here, just call me ‘Clark.’” 

Damian hadn’t realized that he... lived... there. He lived in Metropolis. With the Kents. 

And living with the Kents was weird. 

For one, they always ate dinner together. Every. Single. Night. After, they’d wash the dishes together and then either watch a movie or play a board game. All four of them. Every night.

It was just... weird. 

Kind of nice, though. He found himself laughing a lot, now. Board games were usually pretty funny. 

And each night before bed, Lois would tuck Jon into bed and kiss him goodnight. Then a little while later, Clark would stick his head into the room and tell Jon he loved him. The first night Clark said “Goodnight, boys. I love you,” Damian nearly choked. It was a week after that when Lois gave Damian a peck on the cheek right after she’d done them same for Clark and Jon, on her way to work. 

Father... Father was Father. He answered his phone sometimes, and had called Damian himself twice. Twice in two months. He was busy with cases, Damian knew. That is what Father did when he was upset. He buried himself in work and let time pass him by, without noticing.

Damian just kind of wanted to hear ‘Goodnight, I love you,” from Father, was all.

But it was fine. 

Lois and Clark said it every night. And Damian was starting to believe they actually meant it when they said it to him. And they weren’t just saying it because it felt awkward to kiss Jon goodnight but not say anything to him.

He felt... it made him feel warm. Every time it happened. Almost like he belonged, or was at least _wanted._

It was eleven weeks and three days into Damian’s stay that he realized he really liked living with the Kents. 

Because it was his 14th birthday. 

Honestly, Damian was used to people forgetting. And considering no one had mentioned anything leading up to it, he figured the Kents didn’t even know about it. 

Which was fine.

His family had forgotten last year, save Alfred. And he’d been fine with that. He was fine with getting no recognition this year, too. It’s not like his birthday had _ever_ been anything pleasant for him. 

But that morning, he was startled awake by three overly enthusiastic voices shouting “Happy Birthday” at him as he trudged into the kitchen, having intended on eating his breakfast half asleep as he did every morning. 

And he just stood there, staring at the pancakes sitting out on the table. _Strawberry._ His favorite. With candles stuck into the stack sitting at his spot. A ‘1′ and a ‘4,’ he was pretty sure. But he couldn’t exactly focus, because the flickering flames were starting to blur in his vision, their color taking over as his eyes _betrayed him._

 _“_ Oh, honey,” Lois said, quickly rushing across the room and wrapping him up into a hug, “it’s okay. We knew today would be a hard day. If you don’t want to celebrate, we don’t have to. I’m sorry if the candles were too much.”

“No,” Damian got out, scrubbing at his face with the arm not trapped in Lois’s hug, “it’s not that. I- I like it.” 

Lois pulled him back and put her hands on either side of his face, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears still falling. “Then what is it, sweetheart?”

Damian scrubbed at his eyes again, trying his best to get himself back under control. 

Three months with the Kents and he had most certainly gone soft. 

“Is it because there is fruit in the pancakes?” Jon asked, clearly trying to cheer Damian up with a stupid joke. It kind of maybe worked, a little. “Because I _told_ Mom that birthday pancakes needed sprinkles, not fruit.”

“Jon,” Clark hissed. 

And Damian smiled, just a little, and whispered to Lois, “You remembered.”

“That you liked strawberries?” she asked. 

Damian just shook his head, and Lois seemed to understand what he meant, because she wrapped her arms around him again, and said, “Of course we did.” 

“Last year, only-” Damian started, just to get stuck trying to get the words out. He had to take a couple breaths before he could finally rush out, “Only Alfred rem-remem-”

“Shhhh,” Lois said, as Damian felt strong arms wrap both him and Lois up into a hug. 

“It’s okay, son,” Clark murmured, just holding on while Damian lost control of himself and slowly reigned his emotions back in.

After several minutes, he finally felt stable enough to free himself from Lois and Clark, and didn’t even feel the slightest bit embarrassed about crying his eyes out in front of his best friend. 

He’d seen Jon throw a couple fits, after all. 

“You’re family, Damian,” Jon said, relighting the candles on the pancakes they must have extinguished at some point, “We’ll never forget something as important as your birthday.” 

It was after Damian had ‘made a wish’ and blown out the candles when Jon added, “but you’ll probably wish we’d forgotten tonight, when the waiters sing to you at the restaurant,” that he finally, fully, smiled. 

He could get used to this normal family thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno why I wrote this. I saw the Clark-takes-Damian fic pop up in my activity because someone reblogged it and suddenly my head was showing me how Damian settles in with the Kents in a world where he remains with them permanently, and the image of him crying on his birthday was so strong I had to get up and write it even though I was trying to go to sleep. 
> 
> But hey. 1000 words in like half and hour with no editing. Have them. lol.


	15. Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Jason rescued a cat and gave it to Damian (in chapter 12), Jason learns that Damian named the cat after him.

Jason forgot all about the cat. Honestly. Complete mind blank on the entire event. 

Well, mostly. But he didn’t really think about it. Not for months.

Not even after Bruce had decided to give him ‘another chance’ and started trying harder to be in his life. 

He kind of hates himself for being so ‘desperate for Daddy’s love’—Black Mask’s words, not his—that when Bruce offered him that olive branch, he grabbed on with both hands and pulled. 

He’s come to realize, now, that it was within the week after giving Damian the cat that Bruce approached him. Before, he hadn’t made the connection.

But the cat. 

Jason visiting the Manor was still pretty new. Bruce had been looping him into cases for about eight months and he’d been given free rein of the batcave about three months prior. Bruce had yet to offer him a key to the Manor, but he also never kicked him out whenever he broke in. Just made a few snide comments about said breaking and entering.

Besides, Jason had only broken _three_ windows….so far. Three. And Bruce was a billionaire. He could so afford to replace them. Jason was actually doing him a favor by pointing out all the flaws in his security. 

All Bruce had to do to put an end to it was give Jason a key.

But that was entirely beside the point. 

Tim told Jason that Alfred baked a batch of cookies that morning, so Jason absolutely invited himself into the Manor. There was no way he could resist a fresh molasses cookie. It was his favorite as a child, still living in the Manor, and it was still his favorite. But only when made by Alfred. 

And as far as Jason was aware, the Manor should have been empty. So he brought along his book and was happily munching away at the cookies as he laid on the couch and read. It was _so_ relaxing. Honestly. His apartment was nice and all. Kind of. If you closed one eye and pretended the plaster on the walls wasn’t peeling. And also went deaf. 

Because _damn_ were his neighbors loud. And the street traffic outside. And the people walking by on the street, always basically shouting as they talked back and forth, half of them drunk. 

So yeah, nice peaceful, quiet Manor. A nice, lazy afternoon with a book and a dozen cookies. 

It was heaven. 

Then the little demon brat went and ruined it. 

“Todd,” he shouted, from somewhere way down the hall, “Todd, where are you?”

Jason scowled at the wall ahead of him, but then paused. Because Damian wasn’t… shouting. Like he normally would when demanding Jason’s attention. He was… calling. For him. Gently. Kind of childishly. Like a _normal_ child looking for their brother, and getting frustrated at not finding him. A little anxious, too.

How did Damian even know Jason was there? 

What the fuck was Damian even doing home? Didn’t he have like… school. Or something?

“Todd,” Damian shouted again, now closer to the living room Jason was hiding in. 

With a sigh, Jason got up and walked to the door of the living room and poked his head into the hallway. “What do you want, Brat?” 

Damian startled, then glowered at Jason and said, “Todd. _What_ are you doing here?”

“Uhh, what? You were just calling for me.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest, as if his tiny little 11-year-old body could possibly look any bigger than a jumbo piece of shrimp, “No, I was not. Why would I call for _you? You_ should not even be here.”

“What the fuck,” Jason said, throwing an arm up as he turned around to walk back to his couch, “You were _just_ yelling out my name, you lying piece of shrimp.”

“No,” Damian shouted after him, quickly following him into the living room, “I was not.”

“Then did Bruce adopt another kid named Todd without telling me?” Jason asked, as he flung himself back down at the couch to start reading again. Like hell was he going to let Damian run him out. No way. He was going to finish all these cookies and get to at least chapter 8. _At least._

“No, like Father needs more orphans. He _has_ a son now.”

“Hmph,” Jason grunted, loudly, even as Damian continued on.

“I was looking for my cat, you imbecile. Have you seen him?”

“You…” Jason started, then paused. Looked at Damian. Sat up. “Your cat?”

“ _Yes,”_ Damian exasperated, “My cat. You remember him. Small. Grey fur and orange eyes.”

Jason’s eyes widened as he remembered back to that rainy day, to squeezing himself down a manhole and slogging through the sewer water to find the crying kitten he’d heard from above. Carefully cleaning it up and trying to come up with a plan to save it, then remembering the little demon liked animals. He had a cow, after all. 

“You named the cat after me?” Jason said. He’d wanted to say something more scathing. Sarcastic. But he was honestly a little startled by the realization. 

Did Damian tell Bruce Jason had saved the cat? _Did they all think he was soft?_ Was this why they didn’t take him seriously as an anti-hero anymore?

Damnit. He was going to have to rectify that. 

“Yes,” Damian said, matter-of-factly, like it had been the obvious choice, “Of course.”

“Uh,” Jason stammered, “Okay. Why?”

“He was a gutter rat, abandoned by his parents, and starving to death on the streets of Gotham. I think even _you_ could see the resemblance.”

 _Fuck_ him. 

“Wow,” Jason breathed, “Okay. I was hoping the reason would be a little more… uh complimentary.” 

“Tt. You were both also adopted by a Wayne.” 

“You are a little piece of shit, you know?” Jason said, to which Damian rolled his eyes, “I would have named him ‘Smokey.’ Or ‘Pepper.’”

“Yes, well, thankfully you were not in charge of naming him. ‘Todd’ is fitting. He gets along well with Alfred, just as you and Pennyworth get along.”

“Alfred…. The cat?” Jason asked, because he was pretty sure he remembered something about the brat naming a cat after Alfred. 

But he was pretty sure Cat Alfred was named as such because of how much Damian adored Human Alfred. 

_Damn it._ Damian was exactly why they all thought he was soft, wasn’t he? He’d been all cute and adorable and named a friggen cat after him. 

“Yes, of course.”

“Right.” 

But… 

It was also, kind of cool, having a cat named after him. It was almost kind of touching. “Have you named any of your pets after Tim?”

“Tt. _No._ Why would I do such a ridiculous thing?”

Jason grinned to himself, because yeah. It was like, an honor, wasn’t it? The closest thing to ‘you are acceptable as a human’ as Damian would get. And he hadn’t done it for Tim. So ha. 

“Can I meet Todd?”

Damian actually smiled at that, and said, back in his childish voice, “Sure, if you help me find him.” 

Yep. He was going to choose to be honored by this. And rub it in Tim’s face, later.


	16. Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to ch. 11, where Jason finds Damian crying in the manor because Bruce didn't take him on a trip. Jason confronts Bruce about that.

Spending time with the demon was actually pretty not terrible. 

Tim was around. Sort of. It was almost like as soon as it was clear Jason was staying, he realized he didn’t have to. Which was fine. Annoying, kind of, suddenly being actually responsible for watching the brat. But Jason didn’t care too much. He wanted to play referee between those two less than he wanted to make sure the brat didn’t die. 

Because that’s pretty much the only thing he did. He did not enforce bedtimes, he let the twerp patrol with him, and he bought the most extravagant, sugar and calorie filled shit he could find. 

Charged it to Bruce’s credit card, too. 

Well, Tim’s copy of Bruce’s credit card. But same thing. 

And so Damian was passed out on the couch, where they had been watching movies together and making a mess with popcorn, when Bruce got home Thursday evening. Which meant Jason was alone in the kitchen, drinking some coffee and reading when Bruce materialized in the doorway. 

The old man looked like he was seeing a ghost. Or perhaps thought he was hallucinating, because he just stood there, blinking at Jason. For a long, awkward moment, while Jason slurped nosily at his coffee and kept reading. 

“Jason?” Bruce eventually asked, finally entering the kitchen fully and setting his briefcase down on the counter. 

“Sup.” 

“What,” Bruce started, then paused to clear his throat, “What are you doing here? Where’s Damian?”

“He’s asleep in the den. Little punk fell asleep in the middle of _Godfather Part III._ I mean, who _does_ that, right? _”_

_“_ You got him to watch…” Bruce said, squinting at Jason, “He was supposed to be doing schoolwork, not tooling around.” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, waving a hand, “heard about that. Found him crying his eyes out about it, actually.” 

Bruce stiffened as his hand slipped a little on the kitchen island, where he’d been resting a little of his weight. “You what?”

“Yeah, _apparently,_ ” Jason said, making his voice as hard as he could without coming across as too aggressive. Knowing Bruce, he’d probably throw him out if he seemed like he might turn violent, “your 12-year-old son had been excited to spend a couple days with just you and him, and was crushed when he got left behind instead.”

“He didn’t finish his schoolwork,” Bruce said lamely, but he was frowning and looking off, out the kitchen, toward the den. As if he could actually look at Damian, even though the brat was on the literal opposite side of the manor. 

Jason narrowed his eyes and said, “Did you tell him ahead of time he had to finish those assignments to go?”

“He knows he’s supposed to get his work done every-” Bruce started, his voice just as hard as Jason’s, but Jason cut him off.

“So take away his cell phone or something, not his _Dad.”_

Bruce froze up at that. He blinked and stuttered a little as he said, “I… didn’t…” 

Jason couldn’t find it in him to feel sorry. “That’s how it felt to him. Dads are important to little boys, Bruce. He craves your love and attention. Stop withholding it for stupid reasons.”

“Jas-”

“Save it,” Jason snapped, pausing to drink the last of his coffee and set the mug in the sink, “I spent the week with him instead. Spoiled him rotten. You’re welcome. He got no schoolwork done, and you won’t yell at him for that.”

“Jay-” Bruce said, as Jason was walking out of the kitchen, ready to return to his regularly scheduled life. 

But he turned, and just looked at Bruce blankly, waiting for him to finish the thought, or at least his name. 

He didn’t though.

Bruce stood there for a good several seconds, before he finally said, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, waving as he turned to leave again, “Stop being an asshole to your kids.” 

The way Bruce sighed, loud and annoyed, as Jason said that brought a smile to his face. 

He was fairly certain Bruce would probably try to fix it. Maybe even take Damian on a vacation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on vacation right now, and somehow I managed to get these 689 words out.... over the course of three days. Lmao. This is why Precedent hasn't been and won't be updated until next Wednesday, at the earliest. Sorry 'bout that, friends! :D Hope you enjoyed this piece of crap in the meantime.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updated entirely randomly, whenever I have or suddenly remember another tumblr fic that isn’t long enough to be its own fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)


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